


the care and feeding of your dick

by MontanaHarper



Category: The Losers (2010), The Losers (Comic)
Genre: Consensual Kink, Established Relationship, M/M, Sounding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontanaHarper/pseuds/MontanaHarper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Jensen's singing Cheap Trick under his breath as he packs his duffel, happily ignoring the amused looks Pooch is shooting him, because he has got a plan.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	the care and feeding of your dick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [casspeach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/casspeach/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Locked, Loaded and Ready to Roll](https://archiveofourown.org/works/229834) by [catwalksalone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catwalksalone/pseuds/catwalksalone). 



> You should totally read the story that inspired this, because it's awesome and because this—an unofficial sequel—will make a lot more sense if you do.
> 
> Title taken from a line in Catwalksalone's story.

Never let it be said that Jake Jensen half-asses things. Well, okay, yeah, he does, but not when he has a choice. Not when he has the time to prepare. So, never let it be said that Jake Jensen half-asses things when he doesn't have to.

When he's got time, he does his research, and he's got nothing but time right now. The Losers are stuck out in the middle of the Afghan desert, their base a handful of tents crowded together under the dubious cover of a hundred square meters of beige camouflage netting, and nothing but sand for klicks around. It's typical Army hurry-up-and-wait, and that shit gives Jensen hives. Luckily, he's a genius and he can make his own entertainment.

Or, you know, do research and maybe end up with some entertainment as a side benefit. Call it a bonus.

It takes, like, zero effort to piggyback onto an official satcom signal and get himself a stealth connection to a core router in western Europe—encrypted to hell and back, of course, because Jensen's a pro—and then he's just one anonymous stream of data out of millions, hanging ten on the information superhighway. 

The first thing he does is start a sandboxed private browsing session, because cyber STDs suck just as much as their real-life equivalents and no way is he letting his baby get infected. The second thing he does is hit Google, because he knows what he's looking for, but he has no idea what the hell it's called. He figures he's on the right track when the first search result that pops up is on Xtube, and from there it's just a couple of very selective mouse clicks to some really hot, really filthy porn (a handful of which he saves to a hidden partition on his laptop, because reasons) and an actual word for what had, until then, been nothing more than a not-so-subtle suggestive gesture on Cougar's part. And, okay, maybe a hell of a lot of vivid imagining on Jensen's part once Cougar planted the idea.

The third thing he does is hit up adult toy stores online until he finds what he's looking for, and then he places an order for a few items to be delivered to a nonexistent Gunnery Sergeant mysteriously assigned to the same FOB the team is temporarily working out of. 

Now all he has to do is wait.

~ | ~ | ~

Jensen sucks at waiting.

Waiting implies not getting what he wants _right now_ and Jensen's never been very good at delayed gratification; he leaves that up to Cougar, with his crazy sniper patience and his ability to focus on one thing for hours and hours and Jesus, Jensen's getting hard just _thinking_ about it. 

Oh, hell. He might as well put on a collar and start calling himself Chyorny, because that's textbook Pavlovian conditioning right there. 

He shifts on his bedroll and checks his watch. It's an hour until Cougar's sentry duty is over, and then six more until Jensen's starts at 0300. A smart man would sleep for the next hour, knowing he probably won't get much rest once Cougar is back.

Jensen unbuttons the top button of his BDUs and slides his hand into his boxers anyway. On rare occasions, smart is overrated.

~ | ~ | ~

He wakes from a light doze with his hand still in his pants, his dick half-hard, and Cougar kneeling over him wearing a predatory grin that Jensen's never going to get tired of seeing. He grins back. "Hey, there. I was just thinking about you. Did you know that Pavlov had sixty dogs he used in his conditioned response experiments? Only fifty-one of them had unique names, though, and there were three named Valiet, so that was obviously a popular name with the mommy and daddy dogs of late nineteenth century Rus—"

Cougar switches off his flashlight and sets his hat aside, and Jensen abruptly shuts up; he knows from experience that the rest of what he was going to say is way less important than whatever amazing dick-related plan Cougar's got. 

Apparently, Cougar's plan is to drive Jensen slowly insane, because he plants his hands next to Jensen's head and lowers himself down so that he's stretched out along Jensen's entire body before stopping, their mouths separated by what can't be more than a quarter inch of hot, damp air. Jensen's hand is trapped, pressed between his own now-fully-hard dick and—four layers of fabric away, which is four layers of fabric too many if you ask him—Cougar's semi. He presses up with his knuckles, rubs as much as his limited range of motion allows, just to hear Cougar's breath hitch faintly.

"Oh yeah, man, come on," he says, keeping his voice low; he may be incapable of shutting up for any length of time, but he does have some concept of discretion, and in close quarters like this it's not just Don't Ask, Don't Tell, it's also Don't Wake Your CO by Begging Your Teammate to Suck Your Dick. The acronym isn't as catchy, but it's probably the more important of the two rules, at least around here, because Clay's not a stickler when it comes to regulations that don't affect how they do their jobs, but he's cranky as hell if you wake him for anything less than a full-out firefight. 

Jensen curves his free hand around Cougar's ass and repeats, "Come _on_. Don't be a fucking tease, Cougs. You're killing me here."

"You started without me," Cougar says softly, his lips brushing Jensen's as he speaks, and Jensen takes the touch as an invitation to lean up that last little bit, to close the distance and trace the lines of Cougar's mouth with the tip of his tongue. 

God, Cougar's mouth, which does crazy, hot, amazing things to Jensen, makes him want freaky shit he's never even thought about before. Or maybe that's not just Cougar's mouth but all of Cougar, the whole package, the whole long, lean, _gorgeous_ package. And thinking about packages, oh, man, _Cougar's package_ , which Jensen finally, _finally_ got to see, and interact with, up close and personal, and that's something he wants to keep doing on a regular basis. Like now, for instance.

Before Jensen has a chance to even move, Cougar growls, and _hi there, Pavlovian response,_ Jensen thinks as he shudders and arches his hips up, his previous train of thought thoroughly derailed.

Where was he? Oh, yeah, that's right: caught with his hand down his pants. 

"I didn't _start_ , I...took a brief and uneventful side trip," he protests. "I was thinking about you." And that was maybe a little much, maybe more than Jensen meant to say. He backpedals. "I mean, about what I wanted to do to you. I have thoughts. Ideas. Plans, even."

He shifts and tugs a little and manages to extricate his hand, curling it around Cougar's hip as Cougar makes a quiet sound that Jensen translates as 'go on, I'm listening.' Jensen slides his thumb up under the hem of Cougar's tee-shirt and then down again, stroking just beneath the edge of his BDUs, along the hard jut of hipbone. He wants to put his mouth there, wants to suck bruises into that thin, delicate skin.

"You like to take your time, right? Which, don't get me wrong, I am all in favor of you taking as much time as you want here, but you might have noticed that I'm not the most patient guy on the planet—" He ignores the soundless huff of laughter. "—and I'd like the opportunity to show my own appreciation for fine weaponry. So I was thinking maybe we could get something simultaneous going on—a _mutual appreciation_ , if you will."

When Cougar doesn't immediately respond, Jensen leans up a little, puts his mouth right next to Cougar's ear, and whispers, "You have no idea how bad I want your dick right now, Cougs. Want to feel you in my throat and taste you on my tongue. Want you to fuck my mouth. You can do it hard and fast or slow and sweet, whatever you want, just please, please—" He cuts himself off, bites back the rest of the words that are ready to spill off his lips. It's too new, this...whatever it is, this thing that's more than fuckbuddies, that involves feelings, and that even Jensen isn't sure he's got the words for.

And there's that growl again—the one that makes Jensen's breath catch and his dick ache, the one that means Cougar _wants_ , just as much as Jensen does—then Cougar's got a hand between them, unbuttoning Jensen's fly the rest of the way, and something in Jensen's chest unclenches a little more, because they're okay.

Hell, they're much, much better than okay. They're awesome.

~ | ~ | ~

The brown-paper-wrapped package shows up while they're on base doing a resupply, their original mission a wash but a new one on the horizon. Jensen retrieves it without being noticed and takes it back to the temporary barracks assigned to the team, stashing it under his rack. It reminds him weirdly of being fifteen and hiding his collection of _Hustler_ , _Blueboy_ , and _Inches_ magazines between his mattress and box spring—not so much out of shame as out of a desire not to give his Gramma a heart attack.

He's pretty sure Clay wouldn't have a heart attack, but there's no reason to risk it.

~ | ~ | ~

The new mission is a success—intel retrieved and bad guys blown to hell—and for the first time in over a month they've all got leave coming. Jensen's singing Cheap Trick under his breath as he packs his duffel, happily ignoring the amused looks Pooch is shooting him, because he has got a plan. Admittedly, it's a plan that makes him nervous—not so much butterflies-in-the-stomach as squirmy anticipation, but nervous all the same.

Then he reaches the bottom of his rucksack and the bandana-wrapped bundle that he's been trying, unsuccessfully, not to think about for the last couple of weeks, and maybe the nervous goes a little butterflies, too. He transfers the bundle to his duffel, tucking it between a couple of tee-shirts about midway down, and when he looks up Pooch is giving him another one of those amused looks.

Jensen deflects. "Man, you have got it bad," he says, nodding at where his laptop is balanced on Pooch's stomach. Somehow Jensen's room ended up being the default hang-out for the team when they have nothing else to do, so Pooch is stretched out on Jensen's rack, IMing with his girl on Jensen's computer.

Pooch makes a dismissive noise and Jensen continues, "No, seriously. We get ninety-sixes and you're planning to spend half of yours on a plane or in a car—and the rest jetlagged to hell and back—to get stateside and see her? Got. It. Bad."

"Yeah, well," Pooch says, and there's the quiet ping of a new message arriving. He reads it and his grin softens into something sweeter as he says, "She's worth it."

And okay, Jensen knows how that feels. He glances past Pooch, to where Cougar is sitting on the desk, SR-25 in pieces beside him as he cleans it. He's not looking in Jensen's direction, but there's a faint smile at the corners of his mouth and Jensen's going to choose to interpret it as for him and not for the rifle—though honestly it could easily be for _both_ , knowing Cougar. 

"What about you, J? What kind of paradise you heading to for the next four days?" Pooch hits the enter key and looks up.

Jensen fastens the top of his duffel. "Amsterdam," he says, and he's startled when Pooch laughs, the sound sharp and loud in the small room.

"No shit? Amsterdam?" Pooch grins and waggles his eyebrows in Jensen's direction. "Kinky."

"What? No!" Because okay, _yes_ , the plan is kinky, but not like Pooch is implying. Not live sex shows or prostitutes or anything. First, not Jensen's thing, and second, he's always gotten the impression that Cougar isn't big on sharing, which is absolutely fine because Jensen isn't either.

But Pooch is giving him an 'uh-huh' look, and Cougar's looking at him from under the brim of his hat and wearing the smile that says he's amused and waiting to see how Jensen is going to dig himself out of this one. It is, sadly, a pretty common expression for Cougar, especially lately.

"Black Hat Europe starts tomorrow," Jensen explains. "Some of the world's greatest hackers giving briefings on bleeding-edge information security; how could I not go? Hell, it's practically my _job_ to go. There's going to be a presentation on using SMS to hijack cellphones, and one on all the fun you can have after hacking into an internet backbone." What Jensen doesn't mention is that he probably knows everything they're going to say, and anyway he can download the whitepapers and stream the videos after the conference is over. "The one I'm really looking forward to, though, is—"

"All right, all right," Pooch interrupts, holding up his hands like he's surrendering. "I get it. You jerk off to computer code."

Jensen gives Pooch his most evil smile. "You done with my laptop there, Pooch?" He calls up the memory of Cougar all hard and lean and _hot_ under his hands, and lets a little of that breathlessness through when he lowers his voice and says, "My beautiful, sleek laptop with the extra-responsive trackpad and glossy, high-res LCD-LED screen?"

For a second it looks like it's going to work, but apparently Pooch really does have it bad because he finally says, "Disturbing as that was, J? No, not yet. Jolene's gotta go in a few anyways." 

From Pooch's other side, Cougar laughs quietly. 

"What about you, Cougs?" Jensen slants a look in Cougar's direction. "I'm heading off to hacker heaven, Pooch is going to visit the lovely Jolene, Clay has that thing with the general's wife that's probably going to end in tears—or, more likely, C-4—and I'm pretty sure Roque will be teaching half the Marines on base not to underestimate him when it comes to Texas hold 'em. How're you gonna spend your free time?"

Cougar shrugs. "Never been to Amsterdam," he says, and Jensen grins, because _hell yeah_ , he has got a _plan_.

~ | ~ | ~

The problem with the plan is that it's more a mental image leading to an end result than it is an actual step-by-step flowchart, so when the door of their hotel room closes behind them and Cougar pins Jensen to it before dropping to his knees and starting in on that whole dick-worshipping thing Jensen loves so very fucking much ( _thank you, God_ )? It's suddenly a whole lot of "error: file not found" where there ought to be a tactical blueprint.

Under the circumstances (Jesus fuck, Cougar's _mouth_ ) Jensen can't really bring himself to care. There's always later. And tomorrow.

~ | ~ | ~

Later is mostly a lot of the same, interspersed with dozing naked on the bed, tangled together and sticky with sweat.

~ | ~ | ~

The next morning Jensen half wakes when Cougar slides out of bed. The shower starts, and Jensen briefly considers getting up and joining him, but even the idea of a wet, slick Cougar isn't quite enough to overcome the fact that he's really not a morning person. When Cougar emerges from the shower and starts to get dressed, though, Jensen finally pries his eyelids open, squints at the Cougar-shaped blur, and reaches for his glasses.

Cougar takes them away and puts them back on the bedside table. "Just getting coffee," he says. "Sleep. It's still early."

The idea of going back to sleep and waking to hot coffee and hotter Cougar is appealing, but somewhere around the time the door clicks shut Jensen's brain finishes booting up and he remembers that he has a plan to implement.

~ | ~ | ~

When Cougar returns, he's not only bearing gifts, but they're the best kind of gifts: large to-go cups of coffee and a bag with the familiar golden arches on the side.

Jensen sits up from where he's been oh-so-casually lounging on the bed, the movement making the towel he wrapped around his waist after his shower shift dangerously but not quite come loose. "You brought me McDonald's? See, Cougs, _this_ is why you're my favorite." At Cougar's raised eyebrows, Jensen amends, "Well, one of the reasons why you're my favorite. There are actually many, many reasons, and someday I'll make you a list, or maybe a PowerPoint presentation. It'll probably be embarrassing—for both of us—and I plan to get completely wasted first."

Cougar chuckles and shakes his head, the quirk of his lips clearly communicating—at least to someone like Jensen, who speaks (mostly) fluent Cougar—that he thinks Jensen is ridiculous, but that he's willing to put up with a little ridiculous in his life and maybe even be entertained by it. "Saw a coffee shop on the corner," he says, slanting a look at Jensen from under the brim of his hat as he sets the food and drinks down on the little table beside the window.

It takes a moment for Jensen to process that, to put 'Amsterdam' and 'coffee shop' together, and when he does, he says, "Did you just offer to buy me a dime bag? That's so sweet, man. Maybe when we get back stateside you can get me some hookers and blow for my birthday."

Cougar narrows his eyes and closes the distance between them, planting one hand in the middle of Jensen's chest and pushing. Jensen grins and lets himself fall backward against the pillows, lacing his fingers behind his head and—completely coincidentally, because it's totally not a move he's practiced in the mirror or anything—showing off the muscle definition of his pecs and abs.

"Awww, c'mon baby," he says with a pout. "Why you gotta be like that?"

Before Jensen's even finished talking, Cougar is straddling his hips and pinning his wrists in place, and Jesus, the man can be a fast motherfucker when he wants to be. Jensen didn't exactly forget that, but somewhere along the line his brain decided Cougar-in-the-field and Cougar-in-bed are two entirely different things. His brain is obviously mistaken.

His dick, though, doesn't seem to differentiate, and is more than happy with Cougar's proximity, menacing or not. 

When he pushes up with his arms a little, not really trying to get free but just testing, Cougar doesn't budge. That's way hotter than it probably should be. In fact, the whole scenario is stupidly hot, with Cougar fully dressed—including the hat—and Jensen pinned down and completely naked; now that Jensen's towel has finally succumbed to gravity, Cougar can't possibly miss how much this is turning him on.

Cougar's not reacting, though. Instead, he's got that expression that makes Jensen think the nickname is eerily apt, like he's a big cat, patiently watching his prey and waiting for it to make a move so he can pounce. While Jensen is more than okay with being pounced by Cougar, they'd probably end up with a repeat of yesterday, which would be awesome but it would also be Jensen chickening out.

He licks his lips nervously and watches as Cougar's eyes track the movement. Before he can lose his nerve, he swallows and says, "I, uh. I bought you a present." He nods at the bundle on the bedside table.

It's almost out of reach from their position on the bed, so when Cougar lets go of him and leans over, Jensen's hands automatically go to Cougar's hips, bracing him until he's settled again. Cougar rests the bundle on Jensen's chest and starts unwrapping it, fingers quick and deft in a way that jump-starts Jensen's imagination and makes his mouth go dry.

It feels like it takes forever, but he sees the instant everything's laid out and Cougar's eyes widen just a little as he gets it: the two thin metal rods pristine in their resealable plastic bags, the sterile lube in needleless syringes.

" _Carajo_ ," Cougar breathes, one hand hovering over the shorter, elaborately textured sound, then he looks up at Jensen, and Jensen can't read his expression at all. "You want me to...?"

 _No. Maybe._ "Yes." It's not even really a lie. He's pretty sure he wants it—has gotten spontaneous inappropriate boners and jerked off to the mental image more than once over the last few weeks—but more importantly, he's absolutely positive that if he changes his mind at any point, Cougar will stop, no questions asked.

When Cougar kisses him then, it's more fierce than usual. Jensen groans and tries to give as good as he gets, tries to make sure Cougar hears all the things Jensen isn't saying. Eventually, Cougar pulls back, shifting until he's sitting on the edge of the bed, and starts toeing off his boots, one hand resting on Jensen's thigh. Jensen's not sure if that means Cougar's afraid he's going to bolt or what. 

"So," Jensen says, because he's here for the long haul and maybe Cougar needs to know that, too, "this one vibrates." He picks up the bag containing the larger of the two sounds and twirls it idly around his fingers. "I had to mess with it a little to get it to do more than a sad little wobble thing, but it seems pretty good now. Not that I— I mean, I didn't actually test it, you know, _in action_ or anything." 

Cougar tilts his head a little, the 'why not' coming through loud and clear.

Jensen shrugs and sets the sound back down. There's really no good way to say 'I wanted you to be the one to pop my getting-my-dick-reamed cherry,' at least not without making it into some kind of declaration, and that's something they don't do. The silence stretches, and just as Jensen is about to crack and make a smart-ass comment about engraved invitations, Cougar gives his thigh a quick squeeze and then stands and heads toward the tiny bathroom.

The squirmy anticipation comes back while Cougar's gone. Jensen closes his eyes and listens to the sound of running water, counts his too-rapid heartbeats and tries to keep his too-vivid imagination under control. He's focusing on taking slow, even breaths when Cougar comes back, the bed dipping beside Jensen's hip.

Cougar says, "We don't have to," and Jensen hears concern under the quiet words. 

"Oh that is where you are wrong, _mi amigo_." Jensen opens his eyes and meets Cougar's gaze with a dirty grin. He curls his fingers around the base of his dick and angles it away from his body a little so Cougar can see just how hard—just how _insanely turned on_ —he is. "We absolutely do have to. I have been thinking about this— _fantasizing_ about this—for, what, six weeks? Two months, maybe? I've committed several felonies to make sure this happens."

That seems to do the trick as far as reassurances go, because Cougar shakes his head (he's smiling so Jensen takes it as a fond 'what am I going to do with you?' kind of head-shake) and settles himself cross-legged on the bed by Jensen's side, running his fingers along the plastic-covered length of each of the sounds in turn. 

The shorter one is a six-inch-long surgical steel rod covered in a series of smooth bumps, like oval beads on a string. One end is rounded and blunt and the other curves into an open loop that reminds Jensen of the handle of an oil dipstick (or the ring on the end of Cougar's rifle cleaning rod, because—let's be honest here—it's not like Jensen doesn't have _vivid_ memories associated with that). 

The longer one (totally coincidentally) has a ring, too, threaded through the cap to the battery compartment. The whole thing is a kind-of-unnerving twelve inches long—Jensen hadn't been paying as much attention to the text description as he had to the photo; he's filing that under 'learning experiences that will (probably) turn out okay'—and its shaft is slender except where it nearly doubles in circumference for three inches at the top, to accommodate the triple-A battery, and two at the bottom, for the motor that makes it vibrate.

"For your first time? This one," Cougar says, picking up the shorter sound. He folds the bandana back over everything else and sets the bundle aside. 

Jensen's breath hitches. "Okay, good, glad that's settled," he says. "Are you going to—? I mean, you're a little overdressed for this party, aren't you?"

Cougar doesn't answer, just slides a hand under Jensen's knee, fingers tapping gently upward. Jensen plants his feet flat on the bed, legs bent and knees slightly apart, leaving room beneath his thighs for Cougar's leg. Soft, warm denim slides against Jensen's skin as Cougar scoots closer until his other leg is pressed from knee to ankle against Jensen's side and hip, and Jensen feels, impossibly, even more naked than before, bare and exposed. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, so he ends up with one tucked behind his head and the fingers of the other curling easily around Cougar's ankle like their contact can ground the sparks of anticipation. His grip tightens a little, though, when Cougar removes the sound from its protective plastic and sets the bag aside.

"Shouldn't there be lube happening?" It's not that he doesn't trust Cougar, because he does, and it's not even that the videos led him to expect lube every time, because they really really didn't, but that was other guys' dicks, and this is _his_ dick, and while he's totally not going to judge what other people get off on, pain just doesn't do it for him.

He bites back what probably would have been embarrassingly close to a whimper as Cougar traces his fingertips lightly along Jensen's dick, doesn't say, 'Jesus, just do it, please,' not even when Cougar closes his fist and jacks Jensen slow and tight, thumb pressing against the underside of Jensen's dick as he strokes upward, stopping just beneath the head. 

"See," Cougar says, eyes dark as he nods at where pre-come is beading at the tip of Jensen's dick, more and more of it with each stroke. "So wet already."

Jensen catches Cougar's wrist and stops him. "Okay, yes," he says quickly, not caring that it comes out sounding more than a little desperate. "Yes."

Cougar turns his hand in Jensen's and raises them both to his mouth. Jensen's expecting something sexy and orally fixated—after all, this is _Cougar_ —but instead he gets a series of chaste kisses across his knuckles and an ache in his chest that makes it hard to breathe. 

Jensen laces their fingers together and squeezes briefly before letting go. "C'mon, Cougs. Two months and a couple of felonies, remember?" he says, and Cougar smiles—the new, softer smile that's just for Jensen, the one that makes Jensen's heart beat faster and leaves him with what he knows has to be a goofy grin of his own.

When Cougar angles Jensen's dick until it's pointing almost straight up and trails the tip of the sound across the head, Jensen tenses, but it's not as cold as he imagined it'd be, and he's already started to relax again when Cougar moves just a little and the end dips down and slides easily into his slit. For a second it's not really any different from having Cougar's tongue flicking against it, or the slide of his own thumb when he jerks off, but then gravity takes over and there's this odd pressure and a faint sense of...of _stretching_ , or something like it that Jensen doesn't even have the vocabulary for.

He can feel Cougar watching his reactions, but he can't tear his own gaze off of where the sound is slowly disappearing into his dick a fraction of an inch at a time under Cougar's guiding fingers. Each little shift teases sensitive nerve endings, the combination of friction and bulk and _holy fuck, it's_ inside _me_ sending his pulse racing. By the time it's all the way in, the open loop curled around and under the head of his dick so it looks like he's got a PA, Jensen's breathing is ragged and he's fighting the urge to just wrap his hand around his dick and jerk off, because he's so fucking close.

Then Cougar slides his trigger finger carefully through the loop, his knuckle barely brushing hypersensitive skin, and lifts.

It feels like Jensen's coming, even though he knows he's not, like he's being turned inside out, every bump and curve dragging him closer to the edge. "Fuck," he manages. " _Fuck_ , Cougar." 

Cougar stops instantly, a little more than an inch of the sound already exposed. "Good?"

"God, yes. Please. Fuck," Jensen says, and he should probably be more embarrassed that he's been reduced to monosyllables and begging. "Don't stop, please." But because Cougar apparently lives to drive Jensen absolutely out of his mind, he just strokes along the underside of Jensen's dick with his thumb, pressing too lightly to actually get him off. 

Jensen whimpers. 

"Shhh," Cougar says, and his thumb keeps moving, too slow and too gentle.

Screw it, he doesn't even care anymore about the noises he's making. He's going to _die_ if he doesn't come. "Cougs," he says, because fuck pride and shame and all that bullshit, "I am going to _die_ if I don't come. Not kidding, man. Dying here."

He pushes into Cougar's hand a little, and Cougar finally relents and lets go of the sound, which starts to slide back down. It's still not enough, not even with the slow, steady drag of Cougar's fingers curled around his dick, stroking. 

"Please. I will give you anything you want." Jensen can't quite still his hips, making tiny thrusts in counterpoint to the movement of Cougar's hand, searching for just the right pressure, just the right angle to push him over the edge. " _Anything._ "

Cougar freezes and Jensen can hear him suck in a harsh breath. When he looks over, Cougar's got his eyes closed. Before Jensen can say or do anything else, though, Cougar licks his lips and opens his eyes again.

"You already did, _querido_ ," Cougar says, and it takes a second for the words to make sense to Jensen and then another second while he swallows hard against all the ridiculous, sappy declarations that are suddenly on the tip of his tongue.

When he's got it under control, Jensen grins and says, "Well, then, what are you waiting for? You owe me a mind-blowing orgasm, man," and he rolls his hips up, his dick sliding easily in Cougar's relaxed grip. 

That earns Jensen a fondly exasperated look and a mock salute, and this time when Cougar threads his finger through the loop and starts to drag the sound upward, about twice as fast as it had gone in, he's not teasing; his other hand is tight on Jensen's dick, jacking him in earnest, and Jensen's entire body tenses as he comes hard enough to see stars.

~ | ~ | ~

Once Jensen has regained motor control—after Cougar has packed up the lube and the sounds and tossed a wet washcloth onto Jensen's stomach so he can clean up (he nailed his glasses, which, wow, he hasn't shot that far since he was seventeen)—he crooks his index finger at Cougar, waylaying him on his way to the little table with the food.

When Cougar stops but makes no move toward the bed, Jensen shakes his head and says, "It's already cold, it's not going to get any colder. You, on the other hand, are hot, so c'mere."

Cougar laughs, but he goes.

"And when I'm done giving you the best head you've ever had," Jensen promises, setting Cougar's hat carefully on the bedside table and sliding his hands up under the hem of Cougar's tee-shirt, "I'll take you out and buy you as much coffee and cheap American junk food as you want."

~ | ~ | ~

Breakfast at McDonald's ends up being dinner, but Jensen has no regrets.

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot possibly thank [**casspeach**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/casspeach) enough. She betas, cheerleads, holds my hand, and just is basically my lifeline when I'm writing.
> 
> My Spanish is virtually nonexistent at this point—it's been thirty years since I lived anywhere it was spoken regularly, and even then what I picked up was mostly the stuff that was drastically inappropriate (because I was twelve, and that's what you do when you're twelve)—so I'm relying on the internet here. Please feel free to correct me if I've mangled things.
> 
>  **Obligatory safety note:** Sounding with random objects is a really, really bad idea. Anything inserted into the urethra should be a) smooth and rounded at the penetrating end, and b) made of a material (such as surgical steel) that can easily be sterilized by boiling or autoclaving, since there are bacteria that are resistant to ordinary soap and water and even to chemical cleaning agents.
> 
> For a good 101 on sounding (presented in a D/s context, but not exclusive to that), check out this [BDSM for Beginners](http://bdsmforbeginners.blogspot.com/2010/07/part-24-urethral-sounding.html?zx=9620c1c229eed3ba) blog featuring **VERY NSFW** pics all over the place.


End file.
